“Weel, I’ll meet ye at eight an’ walk hame wi’ ye.”
“Will ye?”
“Oh, Christina; say ’ay.’”
“I’ll consider it.”
And he had to be satisfied with that, too, for at this point the noisy door opened to admit a tall, clean-shaven, pleasant-featured man of middle-age.
“Hullo, uncle!” cried Christina.
Macgregor fled, but not without gaining a quick smile that made all the difference in the world to him.
Ten minutes later he hurried into the home kitchen.
“Mither, I’ve decided to leave the pentin’.” The moment he said it his heart misgave him, and the colour flew to his face. But he need not have doubted his parents.
“Weel, ma son,” said John soberly, “we’ll dae the best we can wi’ yer Aunt Purdie.”